


The Return of the Assassin

by VivArney



Category: Mission: Impossible (TV 1988)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivArney/pseuds/VivArney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The assassin from the series' first episode returns with a score to settle.</p><p>This was written as part of a Mary Sue contest - which I won, btw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return of the Assassin

The Return of the Assassin  
by Vivian Arney and Toni Wilson

“Some men are alive simply because it is against the law to kill them.” Ed Howe

The man with the staring brown eyes easily picked the simple dead bolt and let himself into the neat, one-bedroom apartment. The only flaw in the otherwise picture perfect living room was a half eaten T.V. Dinner on the coffee table. The food had obviously been abandoned in haste and some time ago. The vegetables were starting to grow a fuzzy green skin.

The intruder made a face, and set the satchel he carried onto a small table near the entrance. He bent to attach a small metal box to the inside of the door. He set the digital timer on the device to allow his intended victim a moment to get into the apartment and close the door before the mechanism did its work.

A sound in the hallway made him freeze for just a moment. He heard a woman's voice, then the click of a dog's nails on the tile hallway floor. Just the woman across the hall taking her dog for a walk, he decided, as he turned back to his work.

Less than a half hour later, he had finished inside the apartment and set about removing all traces of his presence. He stepped out into the hallway to complete the job. The neighbor returned as he knelt in the hallway peering into the innards of the doorknob and he stood to make room for her to pass.

“Is that you, Nicholas?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“Maintenance, Ma'am,” he muttered. He gave the cinnamon colored canine in its leather harness a satisfied smile.

“You're new, aren't you?”

He nodded. Then, realizing the futility of his action, he smiled. “Yes, Ma'am. Name's Bruno. I just started last week.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said as she fished her keys from her pants' pocket. “Well, you have a good day, Bruno,” she added as she let herself into her apartment.

“You too, Ma'am.”

She closed her door and the man returned to his work.

Two minutes later, he wiped the doorknob clean, and picking up his satchel and left the apartment building. He sat in his car for a moment and looked up at the sturdy brick building. This was just one of the “sneak attacks” he had planned. There were still other traps to be set. His victims had to pay for their earlier deceptions and the years he had spent in prison. The assassin nodded and smiled, satisfied with his handiwork, as another car entered the parking lot.

As the intruder watched, a slight man with longish black hair got out of his car, then ducked back in, lifting out a sack of groceries. He set the groceries onto the car's roof, then closed and locked the door. He picked up the sack and climbed the steps into the building.

The assassin smiled again. His victim hadn't seen him! Satisfied that his trap would soon be sprung, he started the stolen car and drove off. 

* * * * *

As Nicholas Black inserted his key into his apartment door and turned it, he heard footsteps on the stairs to his right. He looked up to see a small, dark haired woman in jeans and a T-shirt hauling a basket of laundry down the corridor. “Hello, Sondra,” he called. “How are you?”

“Hi, Nicholas. Pretty good. How about you?” she asked. She set her load on the floor and reached into her pocket for her key.

“Fine.”

Sondra opened her door and smiled up at him. “You sound tired.”

He chuckled, “Yes, I am... a little.”

A sleek, golden head appeared at her knee and Nicholas, seeing the dog was without his harness, crouched to pet it. “And how is Bozo? Hasn't run you into any trees lately, has he?”

“Not since the last time,” Sondra laughed.

Nicholas grabbed the dog's ears and tugged at them gently. “You've got to watch where you're going,” he chided the dog playfully and laughed as he received a wet kiss in return.

“Your dishwasher acting up again?” Sondra asked as he stood.

Nicholas frowned. “Not that I'm aware of. I've been out of town a couple of days. Why?”

“No reason, just curiosity, I guess. The new maintenance man was here a little while ago.”

Nicholas turned and stared intently at the thick, wooden door. There was something odd about the position of the plate around the doorknob. Maybe he'd bumped it putting his key into the lock, but he doubted it, and there was a small piece of wood missing, which must have come out sometime during his absence.

Cautiously, he put his ear to the door. He heard a soft whir, then a click, sounds which would never have been audible under normal circumstances. Suddenly, without really thinking about his actions, Nicholas launched himself at the woman, propelling them both through Sondra's open door.

The closed door across the narrow hall exploded outward. Chunks and slivers of wood, laundry, and shards of gleaming metal flew in all directions as his apartment burst into flames.

Nicholas cried out as a sharp pain tore through his left thigh. He heard the dull roar of a second explosion before he was enveloped in blackness.

* * * * *

He woke, sometime later, to the acrid, alcohol and ammonia smells of a hospital. He opened his eyes and looked around him dazedly, his memory clouded by half-remembered pain and cries of distress. 'His own?' he wondered, vaguely. No... the sounds he heard in his mind were a woman's.

Suddenly, like an overstretched rubber band, the bits and pieces of clouded images snapped back into hard facts of reality. He tried to sit up, but the pain and dizziness the movement brought on took him back to the edge of unconsciousness.

“Nicholas?” a soft voice called from his right.

Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to see Sondra sitting nervously in a chair beside the gurney. There were four, finger-shaped bruises on her left arm where he must have grabbed her and her right wrist was in a sling.

“Nicholas, are you awake?”

“Yes, Sondra,” he answered hoarsely and groaned. “Where are we?”

“The Emergency Room at Morgan Hospital. Do you want me to go get the nurse?” she offered, standing.

“No... wait,” he said urgently.

Sondra paused. “What's wrong?”

“I've got to make a call,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to sit up.

The blind woman looked confused. “Nicholas, I...”

“Please, Sondra... it's vital,” Nicholas insisted. He suddenly slumped back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Nicholas?” she asked worriedly. “What's the matter?”

“Just dizzy,” he answered.

“There's no phone here.” 

He flipped the thin blanket back and tried to get off the gurney. “Then, help me get to a pay phone.”

“I don't think you should be up,” she protested, pushing his shoulders back onto the pillow. “Let me make the call for you,” she offered.

Nicholas forced himself to lie quietly – tried to let the pain fade away so he could think clearly. Giving the woman the IMF emergency number wasn't exactly proper procedure but, at the moment, he could think of no other alternative. The IMF had to be notified. 

“Okay,” he agreed, finally. “Call this number and tell them what's happened. They'll know what to do.” The call would be forwarded automatically to Jim Phelps' home and if he didn't answer, to an extension at the IMF Headquarters in Washington D.C. where her information would be relayed to one of the other team members.

“I'll be right back,” she promised as she turned and left the room.

A nurse entered. “How are you feeling, Mr. Black?”

“It's not that bad, “ he lied. Later, he was never sure just why he had said it, but he'd already had one attempt on his life today and pain or no pain, he wasn't about to let anyone touch him until he had someone around he could trust.

The nurse pulled the blanket back up to his chest and left without another word.

Nicholas relaxed against the pillows, tiredly. He ached all over, but the pain seemed strongest in his leg and his head. He reached up and touched the large bandage over his right temple and winced involuntarily at the short burst of blinding pain that followed. Whoever had tried to kill him had nearly succeeded, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

At the pay phone, Sondra carefully dialed the toll-free number Nicholas had given her.

“Hello?” a man's voice said, over the line.

“My name is Sondra Hogan. I'm calling for Nicholas Black.”

“Yes,” the deep voice was noncommittal.

Quickly, but clearly, Sondra told the man about the explosion.

“Where is he now?”

“Morgan Hospital Emergency Room.”

“What's his condition?”

“I'm not sure. The doctor won't tell me. I'm not a relative.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Nicholas gave it to me. He asked me to call.”

“He's conscious, then?”

“He was when I left him.”

“Good. Please stay with him, Miss Hogan. Tell him someone will be there as soon as possible.”

Sondra sighed in relief, “Thank you.”

“Thank you for calling, Miss Hogan,” the voice told her.

She heard a click, and replaced the receiver on its hook.

* * * * *

When she returned to Nicholas' room, with the help of a nurse, she found he was again unconscious. He came to later with a soft groan.

“Did you make the call?” he asked weakly.

Sondra could hear the pain in his voice. “Yes. He said someone would be here as soon as possible.”

“Good,” he breathed. He winced as he moved his injured leg slightly. “Good.”

Four hours later, Nicholas had been moved to a regular room and was sleeping again when two men entered.

“Miss Hogan?”

Sondra recognized the voice immediately. “You're the man I spoke to on the phone.”

“I'm Jim,” he told her. “This is Max.”

“Hi,” another man said.

“Hello, Max.” His voice was like, Nicholas', was slightly accented, but she wasn't able to pin it down.

“I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner. How's he doing?” Jim asked, worriedly.

“He keeps drifting in and out.”

“The doctor says he has a mild concussion,” Jim explained. “That's probably the reason. I appreciate your staying with him.”

“He's my friend. I'd like to stay on, if I could.”

The white haired leader of the Impossible Missions Team considered it for a moment. “I suppose if he trusted you enough to give you my number he'd like you to stay.” He turned to the other man.

“Max?”

“It's clean, Jim.”

“Good. Now, Miss Hogan....”

“Sondra.”

Jim smiled. “All right, Sondra. Can you tell us anything about the man you met?”

“The maintenance man? I have no idea what he looked like.”

Phelps smiled. “We understand.”

“He was about as tall as Nicholas. And he had a bland voice.”

“Bland?” Max asked.

“Like a radio announcer. You know, no personality – no accent. It wasn't as deep as either of yours, though,” she explained, shrugging. “He called himself 'Bruno'.”

A soft rustle came from the bed and Jim turned anxiously toward it. “ Nicholas?”

The dark eyes opened groggily. Nicholas took a deep breath and muttered something they didn't understand.

“We've spoken to the doctor. You had a piece of the doorjamb in your leg, luckily id didn't do too much damage.”

“So, that's what it was,” Nicholas mumbled.

Phelps took a deep breath. “We were planning to take you to the hotel, but the doctor wants to keep you here for observation. We'll take turns staying with you.”

“I assume my apartment is in the same condition I am, if not worse.”

Jim nodded. “I'm afraid your living room is a total loss. Shannon and Grant are there now, looking for anything salvageable.”

“Okay,” Nicholas said, quietly. He glanced over at the blind woman still waiting patiently in the room's only chair. It seemed strange not seeing the big, cinnamon colored dog sitting proudly on his haunches beside her. A horrible thought crossed his mind. “Sondra, where's Bozo?”

“They wouldn't let me bring him here,” she told him. “He's down in the admissions office. You know, he's fine. Not a scratch on him. You and I were the only ones who got hurt.”

“Yes. Well, I'm sorry about that.”

“It wasn't your fault!” she assured him. To remind him that he had saved her life sounded like a scene from a bad movie. “I just wish I could have given Jim a better description of that creep,” she added, regretfully.

Nicholas reached over and squeezed her uninjured hand. “Take it easy, Sondra,” he told her. “It's all right.” He groaned at the pain even that simple movement caused him.

“Sondra, you must be exhausted, let me take you home,” Jim offered. “Max will stay here with Nicholas.”

“But, I...” she started to protest, but Nicholas' grip on her hand increased.

“Go on, Sondra,” he urged.

Sondra wanted to stay with Nicholas more than she was willing to admit. Her neighbor's easy acceptance of the day's events troubled her. It was as if he had been through similar things before... as if all three men had been through similar things before. She supposed it was the easy acceptance, itself, that troubled her, but she was terrified. What if the “maintenance man” came back? She hoped Nicholas' friends had some plan or another that they weren't telling her.

* * * * *

Jim Phelps escorted Sondra and her dog to her apartment, then crossed the hall to what was left of his friend's place. The plaid sofa and overstuffed easy chair were black and soggy. The coffee table, with its half-eaten T.V. Dinner, was, ironically, still intact, but pitted from the heat. The room smelled of choking smoke. If Nicholas had been standing inside the door when the device went off, he could never have escaped the blaze.

“Shannon? Grant?” he called, stepping through what little remained of the room.

“Here, Jim,” Grant called from the bedroom. (

“Find anything?”

Grant Collier nodded. “Incendiary bombs, at least what's left of them, planted in an arc around the entrance. Plastic explosives attached to the back of the door.”

“Jim, if Nicholas had been inside when those charges went off...” Shannon let the sentence drop off, not knowing she was giving voice to Jim Phelps' thoughts of only a few moments before. “How is he?” she asked, worriedly.

“He's shaken up, but he's going to be all right.”

“He was lucky,” Grant sighed.

Jim nodded solemnly. “Very lucky,” he agreed. “You two put anything salvageable back here and lock it up. I'll talk to the apartment manager.”

Sometime later, at a hotel not far from the hospital, Shannon and Grant stood outside the door of the group's suite. Shannon wanted to clean up before going to visit Nicholas in the hospital.

The pretty agent started to put her key into the lock, then froze and threw a worried glance in Grant's direction.

Grant understood immediately. He crouched to peer at the glass doorknob critically, but found nothing unexpected. He took the key from her and slowly fitted it into the lock. He gently unlatched the door and felt around on the inside of the door. He stuck his head through the narrow opening. “It's okay,” he told her, opening the door completely and moving cautiously into the room.

Together they searched the rooms to find no bombs or booby traps. Shannon left Grant in the suite's small living room, and walked back to her room to change.

Grant went into the kitchenette and washed his face and hands. He perched himself on the black velvet sofa and picked up a magazine from the glass-topped coffee table. Glancing around, he thought about the difference between the carefully decorated hotel room he was in, and the devastation he'd just left. He had never been to Nicholas' apartment before. The IMF frowned on its operatives visiting each other's homes or even being seen together, aside from their missions. There had to be a leak somewhere in the IMF offices. How else could someone have gotten Nicholas Black's home address.

Grant felt something moving beside him on the sofa, and glanced away from the magazine to see the head of a cobra rising from between the cushions. He froze. Keeping his body as still as possible, despite the urge to bolt off the sofa, he called urgently to Shannon.

She appeared in the bedroom door carrying a hairbrush. “What's wrong?”

“Snake,” he answered, forcing himself to remain calm. If he let himself panic, he might move and the creature would strike.

Shannon moved carefully, keeping the sofa between herself and the snake. She ducked into the suite's kitchenette. It took her only a moment to find what she needed. She pulled the fire extinguisher from its holder, then came back around to face them. The snake had raised itself up only a foot or two from Grant and spread its colorful hood wide. It was staring with unblinking intensity into the man's dark eyes. 

“Are you ready?”

He took a very slow, deep breath. “Yeah.”

Shannon pointed the nozzle at the snake and let loose a blast of carbon dioxide fog that froze the snake like a statue in full strike position. She set the canister down and came forward to take hold of the snake and pulled it away from her friend.

Grant slumped on the sofa. He rubbed at his bare arm, which had been numbed by the icy blast.

“Are you okay?” she asked, holding the head of the snake well away from either of them.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah... is it dead?”

“I don't know... I think so.”

Grant stood shakily. “Well, what do you think we should do with our new pet?”

“Find out who left it here and send it back?” she suggested.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. He reached into one of the closets and pulled a small cooler down off the shelf. “Do you think Max will mind?”

“Not as long as we tell him what's in it,” she said, with a smile as she lowered the swiftly thawing creature into the cooler and latched the cover.

* * * * *

Jim Phelps was waiting for them in the corridor just outside Nicholas' hospital room. “You're late,” he said worriedly. “Any problems?”

“Just a cobra in our suite,” Shannon said, nodding toward the cooler Grant held. “We took care of it.”

Phelps frowned. “I got a call just before you two arrived. Sondra Hogan is just what she appears to be. She's been living in the same apartment for seven years and teaching at one of the nearby schools. Nicholas says he's known her for more than two years. He's sure she's not involved. So, I think we can assume the leak didn't come from that direction.”

“Then where?” Grant asked.

“There was another, more urgent message, a warning waiting for us. It seems Matthew Drake escaped from prison six days ago, while we were on the last mission and couldn't be contacted. Now, I'm certain Drake is the one who tried to kill Nicholas and the Secretary agrees with me.”

“Who's Matthew Drake?” Shannon asked.

“It was before you joined us, Shannon,” Phelps told her.

He and Grant took turns telling her about their first encounter with the professional assassin. “Unfortunately, the only thing we can count on is his unpredictability,” Phelps concluded.

“The explosion – the snake, it all fits his pattern,” Grant said, nodding.

Phelps nodded. “And Sondra's comment about his lack of an accent.”

“But, how'd he know where to find us?” Shannon asked.

“I don't know how he found our hotel,” Jim admitted. “The police found Karin Fischer, from Records, dead in her car this morning. She'd been shot.” 

“Damn,” whispered Grant.

Jim took a deep breath. He didn't like the feel of this situation. Normally, he and the rest of his IMF team were in, at the very least, partial control of their missions. But this wasn't a mission and they had no idea where or when Drake would strike next. He gestured for them to follow him into Nicholas' room.

The dark haired agent was awake and drinking ice water from a small cup. “I'm worried about Sondra,” he admitted to the others after a few moments. “Drake doesn't like witnesses. She could be in danger.”

“I agree,” Phelps said. “Grant, why don't you and Max go pick her up?”

“I'd better call and let her know you're coming.” Nicholas picked up the receiver of the phone and began to dial. 

“That's a good idea,” Phelps agreed, then turned to the other men. “You two might as well start off.”

The tall Australian nodded and he and Grant left the room.

“Shannon, I brought up Nicholas' makeup kit. If you'll give him a hand, I think we might be able to surprise Drake.”

Nicholas hung up the phone. “Her line is busy. I'll try again in a few minutes.” 

* * * * *

A lone figure crouched on the roof of a condemned building. From is perch he had an excellent view of the parking area outside Nicholas Black's apartment building. He opened a small suitcase he'd brought up from his car and removed the broken-down sections of a high powered rifle. He kept an eye on the nearly deserted parking area as he expertly, assembled the weapon. After learning that the blind woman had blundered into his trap, and survived, he knew they would come for her. Matthew Drake had come prepared to wait.

An hour or so later, his patience was rewarded with the arrival of the green sedan he'd tinkered with in the hotel parking lot. The assassin peered down at the newcomer through the scope and smiled. He reached over and firmly pushed one of the buttons on the small transmitter resting in his suitcase. This was working out far better than he'd planned. 

* * * * *

As Max and Grant pulled into the parking lot, Max pointed out a small figure coming down the steps toward them. Grant nodded, and steered the car toward her. “You'd better talk to her,” he advised. “She's never met me.”

“Right,” Max agreed. He hopped out of the car and walked over to the woman. “Sondra, its Max. We've come to take you back to the hospital.”

“Is Nicholas all right?” she asked, worriedly.

Before Max could answer, Grant honked the horn and pointed up at something. Max looked up as a piece of asphalt leapt into the air at the woman's feet, his eyes caught the flash of metal on a nearby rooftop. 'The creep must have a silencer,' he thought. “Sondra, we've got to get out of here,” Max said, taking her arm and trying to lead her toward the waiting car. “Come on!”

She jerked away..”I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell's going on!”

“Someone is shooting at us!” he told her urgently, grabbing her arm again.

“I don't hear any shots!” she protested.

“Sondra, let's go!” Grant shouted.

The blind woman suddenly swung a fist into the big man's stomach. “No!”

Max let out a startled “Oof” and doubled over, but he didn't let go of her arms as more bits of pavement exploded around them. He pulled a small canister out of his jacket pocket and sprayed the fine mist into her face. Sondra went limp and Max caught her before she hit the ground. Max felt a streak of white fire tear into his right arm and almost dropped the unconscious woman. It was all he could do to stumble the last five feet to the open car door. He managed to get Sondra into the back seat and scrambled in after her.

Grant was pushing Sondra's dog into the front seat. “Max...” he started, spotting the blood on his friend's sleeve.

“I'll be all right... in a minute,” the Aussie told him, his breath coming in short bursts. “Just get us out of here, before someone calls the cops.”

Grant nodded and, slamming the car into gear, he sped out of the parking lot.

* * * * *

As Drake lowered the rifle, he reminded himself that he'd had no intention of actually killing any of the figures below. Bullet-ridden corpses were very awkward. No, his plan was to frighten his victims into rabbiting out of the parking lot and speeding into traffic. Once the vehicle reached a set speed, the device he'd planted and armed, only a few moments ago, would cause the car's brakes to lock-up. The explosives he'd thrown in would go off on impact. If his plan worked, Jim Phelps would lose more of his team. And, if they were kind enough to take the blind woman with them, so much the better. 

* * * * *

“It's just as well we're going to the hospital, “ Grant commented. “You look like hell. Why'd she hit you?”

Max rested his head against the back of the seat. “I don't think Nicholas got in touch with her.” The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off and his arm was beginning to hurt. He was also a little embarrassed that Sondra had gotten the drop on him, so he changed the subject. “It's a good job we fixed the brakes before we left the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Grant agreed. “Or this would have been a very short trip.” He grinned over at his friend, mischievously. “She really gave you a good one, didn't she?”

Max rubbed his side and winced slightly. “I just wasn't expecting that left.”

“You know,” Grant began, “she's gonna be pretty upset when she comes to. I'm glad I'm not the one who put her under.”

“She'll get over it.”

* * * * *

Back in Nicholas' hospital room, Shannon was putting the finishing touches on the makeup she was applying to Nicholas' pale face, when Max and Grant walked in pushing Sondra in a wheelchair. 

“How's your arm, Max?” Phelps asked.

The blond man shrugged. “Its only a scratch,” he insisted. “It's already stopped bleeding.”

Grant pulled the makeshift bandage away and peered at the wound. “That's a pretty good size 'scratch', buddy.”

“Yeah... well. I don't think he was trying too hard.”

Phelps nodded, frowning. “You've got a point, Max. If Drake had wanted to kill you, he would have.”

Max yelped, as Grant started wiping at the dried blood with an antiseptic soaked sponge.

“Hold still,” Grant muttered.

“Damn~ If only we knew what he was up to!” Phelps said, slamming his open palm against the wall in frustration.

The bang was so loud, and so unexpected, that Nicholas, who was only about half-awake at the time, jumped. He gasped as his damaged leg muscles telegraphed their displeasure.

“Sorry, Nicholas,” Phelps apologized, then turned to the others. “All right, let's wake Sondra.”

“Do we have to?” Max asked.

Phelps looked puzzled.

“He's just mad because she punched him,” Grant explained with a grin.

“She hit you?” Nicholas asked in disbelief.

Shannon noted the size difference between the big, loud Australian and the blind woman. “How much could it have hurt?” she teased.

“Plenty,” Max complained. “She's got a left jab that could take down a water buffalo.”

“Oh, come on, Max!” Shannon said. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Well, she did double him over,” Grant supplied in the other man's defense.

“Okay, don't say I didn't warn you,” Max insisted, as he handed the older man an ammonia capsule and stepped well back. 

Phelps shot Max a smile then broke the capsule under the woman's nose. Sondra jerked awake. Jim dropped the spent capsule into the trash, and Grant grabbed her wrists as she began to struggle.

“Miss Hogan, calm down,” Phelps ordered. “We won't hurt you.”

“What the hell's going on? There are laws against kidnapping, you know?”

“Nicholas, maybe you should try and calm her down,” Shannon suggested.

“Sondra, please relax,” he said as she slowly raised the head of the bed. “You haven't been kidnapped. These people are friends of mine. They won't harm you,” he promised. He took a sip of water from the cup on the table in front of him. His stomach clenched and threatened to rebel, but he leaned his head back and took a few slow deep breaths until the feeling passed. 

“Why'd they knock me out?”

Nicholas glanced over at Max; he'd only heard bits and pieces of the story.

“You were causing a scene.”

“Damn right, I was! You shouldn't have grabbed me.”

“Look, I'm sorry I startled you. We were being shot at. I was just trying to get out of the way.”

“So, who was this mysterious sniper?”

“The same man who planted the explosives in Nicholas' apartment. His name is Matthew Drake.”

“Why's he hacked at Nicholas?” 

“Let me try to explain,” Phelps offered. “About two years ago, this man killed a friend of mine. We got the police the evidence they needed to arrest him.”

“So, he's in prison.”

“No. He escaped a few days ago. And now, apparently, he's decided to come after us. Now, I'm sorry you've gotten involved in this, Sondra, but Matthew Drake isn't the type to let anything stand in his way.”

“Boy, I really blew it this time,” She sighed. “I'm sorry I hit you, Max.”

“No problem. Just tell me where you learned to hit like that?”

“When you're the only girl in a family with ten kids, you learn to fight a little dirty.” 

“You're a good student,” Max complimented.

Sondra turned to Phelps. “So, what happens now? Is there anything I can do?”

“I'm afraid not,” Phelps answered. “We have to wait for Drake to make the next move.”

Sondra looked confused.

“We've released some details about the explosion and fire at your apartment building,” Max explained.

“Including the fact that I survived,” Nicholas added.

“That, and a few other tidbits we've thrown in, should bring Drake right to the hospital to finish Nicholas off,” said Phelps.

“Let's hope he's just as unsuccessful,” Nicholas said, with a tired smile.

“Isn't that a little dangerous?” Sondra asked. “What's to keep Drake from actually getting Nicholas?”

“Nicholas and Shannon can explain it all. Right now, Max, you and Grant had better get into position. I'm going to have a talk with Nicholas' doctor.”

* * * * *

The assassin ducked into the elevator. His heart was racing excitedly as the car moved slowly upward. So far, his plans were working perfectly. Sure, they were simple, but then, he didn't have the resources he used to. Besides, these people would be watching for the sort of high tech, surefire devices he'd had access to before. Getting that cobra hadn't been easy, but it had been worth the effort. The radio newscasts he'd heard on the way over had said the police were investigating a mysterious death in one of the hotels. The young woman was believed to have been killed by a snake bite, though the police were at a loss to explain how she had been bitten in the first place.

A different broadcast had announced that two men and a woman were killed when they lost control of their car and careened off a bridge. The car had exploded as it hit the embankment below.

That meant only Nicholas Black and Jim Phelps remained of the Impossible Missions Team that had tricked him into believing his employer had turned on him. He had killed Scorpio, but not before the white haired executive had stabbed him with a letter opener. He rubbed the thin scar on his stomach absently. He remembered the five of them standing there, gloating, as he lay on the ambulance gurney. It had taken him nearly a year to identify them and now only two of them were still alive.

Nicholas Black shouldn't be too difficult. Both the radio reports and the hospital operator had said he had been badly injured in the explosion. So, either a pillow over the face or, if the other man's condition was bad enough, a good tug on the old oxygen tube should take care of him nicely. Of course, there was always “Plan B.” He fingered the small syringe in his jacket pocket and smiled slightly.

He'd intentionally saved Jim Phelps for last. He wanted the old man to know that he'd been the one to take out the entire IMF team, before he killed him.

Drake let a satisfied smile creep across his face. Sondra Hogan had been an unexpected bonus. He'd intended to come back and deal with the blind woman once he'd finished with Phelps, but Max Harte had, unknowingly, done him a great favor.

The elevator doors opened and Matthew Drake stepped out into the corridor. He'd picked up a small bouquet of flowers in the hospital gift shop and, as far as the medical staff buzzing around him were concerned, he was just another person come to visit a sick friend.

Drake stopped suddenly as he rounded the corner of the elevator lobby. Jim Phelps was talking earnestly with a young East Indian doctor. The taller man didn't seem to notice him, he was too interested in what the other man was saying.

Drake edged closer, keeping himself hidden behind the corner so he could hear without being seen.

“Of course, with damage such as this, the best course of action is to wait for recovery. I'm afraid, though, that your nephew has a great deal of work ahead of him.

So, Phelps was passing himself off as Nicholas Black's uncle. Well, it wouldn't matter in a few moments anyway.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Phelps said, his craggy face grim. He turned and walked slowly away, the very picture of an old man turned suddenly much older.

Drake smiled. Maybe he'd done a better job than he'd realized. Jim Phelps wasn't dead, but his spirit was broken. His revenge on the IMF team was almost complete.

The assassin glanced at the room numbers on the doors as he passed them 825... 827... 829... there it was... 831!! Drake knocked. He got no answer, but then he expected none. He glanced up and down the corridor quickly, then ducked into the room. 

The dark haired agent was lying in the bed, either asleep or unconscious, Drake couldn't tell which. What he could see of Black's face was deathly pale against the white pillowcase and the rest of his features were obscured by a heavy bandage. An IV tube ran into his left arm. The clear liquid dripped with regularity into the man's otherwise undamaged arm.

Drake suddenly felt utterly disgusted with himself and his chosen profession. To kill a vital, healthy person was one thing, but killing the still figure on the bed was, for some reason, another matter entirely. The attack of conscience didn't last long, unfortunately, and after the brief hesitation, he moved forward, pulled the syringe he'd prepared from his pocket and injected its contents directly into the man's IV tubing.

Nicholas Black's breathing slowed, then stopped entirely.

Satisfied, the assassin turned to leave the room. Before he got very far, however, a hand – very large and very solid came down on his shoulder. Frowning, he looked up to see the square jawed blond features of Max Harte smiling down at him.

“You can't leave yet,” the big Australian told him, sounding rather like a host whose guests were leaving as things were getting interesting. “There are some people here who'd like to see you.” He turned Drake slowly, but insistently, around to see four, uniformed police officers sanding less than five feet away.

Jim Phelps appeared, followed by Shannon Reed and Grant Collier, who flashed him a mischievous grin, his white teeth gleaming against his dark skin.

“You're dead.”

Shannon Reed shook her head. “No, we found your little pet,” she said, sliding a small cooler across the slick tiled floor in his direction.

“And that trick with the brakes went out with the dinosaurs. You've lost your touch, Drake,” Grant put in.

“Officers...” Phelps said, motioning toward Drake.

Drake stood in stunned silence as one of the police officers came forward and slipped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. He turned away in anger, only to see Nicholas Black leaning heavily on the shoulders of a very much alive Sondra Hogan.

As Nicholas watched the police lead Drake away, he felt a surge of relief – relief that Drake had been recaptured – relief that no one else had been hurt. He suddenly felt incredibly tired and whatever it was that had given him the strength to walk to the door of his hospital room a moment before, deserted him as unexpectedly as it had come.

The corridor started to spin and he would have fallen if Max hadn't appeared beside him and half-carried him back to his bed. 

The doctor darted into the room, concern in his dark features as he quickly examined his patient and evidently did not like what he saw. “Mr. Black, you should not have gotten out of bed,” he chided, quietly.

“Had to,” Nicholas muttered, between clenched teeth.

“I'm sorry, Doctor, that was my idea,” Phelps told him, as he came into the room.

“Are you trying to kill this man?”

“I'm all right!” Nicholas protested.

“No, you are not!” the doctor shot back. “You have had a serious injury to your left leg. You have a concussion. Thankfully a mild one, but a concussion none the less. You have also lost a rather lot of blood. You will stay in bed.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Nicholas sighed and closed his eyes.

“Now, Mr. Phelps. I went along with your little scheme with the understanding that this man would not be moved.

Phelps held up his hands in surrender. “All right, Doctor. Shannon, will you help Nicholas get that makeup off, while we gather the rest of the equipment?”

Shannon nodded and began removing the layers of heavy bandages she'd put over Nicholas' face, then gently pulled back the thin latex sleeve she had used to cover his left forearm. She removed a small pouch of IV liquid and poison from the inside of the sleeve and handed it to Phelps. “I think you're looking a lot better,” she teased as she carefully piped the white, gel-like adhesive off his face.

Nicholas never heard the quiet laughter, he'd drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

A few days later, there was a knock at the door of the IMF's hotel suite. Max and Grant, who were sitting on the floor with a deck of card spread out on the coffee table between them, looked up worriedly. Shannon was curled up in the big armchair reading and Phelps was puttering around in the kitchenette.

Max was on his feet in an instant and at the door in less than half that time. He peered through the spy hole and grinned broadly.

“Who is that?” Shannon asked.

Max didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the door open to reveal Nicholas waiting in the corridor. He stood a bit shakily on metal crutches, but otherwise he looked better than he had since the explosion.

Phelps hurried into the room. “Nicholas, why didn't you call?”

“Yeah,” Grant agreed. “We'd have come to get you.”

“Do you mind if I come in?” Nicholas asked, wearily. The long walk down the hotel corridor had nearly exhausted him; his injured leg was still not as strong as it should be.

Max smiled, embarrassed and moved aside to let the other man pass.

“You're just in time for lunch,” Phelps told him as he lowered himself into the armchair Shannon had just vacated for him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I stopped by to see Sondra.”

“How's she doing?” Max asked. “You know, we gave her a pretty hard time, I wouldn't be surprised if she never wanted to see any of them again.”

“No, that's not exactly true, Max,” Grant put in. “She just doesn't want to see you again.”

Nicholas shook his head. “Actually, that's not far from the truth. She's gotten a job offer from a company in Texas. She says she can't wait to try it out.”

“She's a very bright young lady,” Phelps said. “She'll do fine.”

“So, when can you come back to work?” Shannon asked.

“Well, I can go back to teaching next week, but I don't think I'd better try to go on any missions for a little while, at least.”

“It'll be good to have you back with us,” Phelps said.


End file.
